


Ring

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fluff, post-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring

They’re not exactly conventional in any capacity.

The first time Dean ever kissed Castiel he was covered in blood; dripping black viscera onto the motel carpet, shirt sagging, weighted, against his skin. He’d gone back to the motel room and found Castiel there – sitting prim on the bedspread, hands folded in his lap, and been so fucking overjoyed just to be  _alive_ that he’d crossed the room in a flash, pulled Castiel up by his lapels and kissed him on the mouth, hard. Murmured, “Sorry.”, panicked and terrified by what he’d done – and then Castiel had grabbed him back, his coat already stained with whatever crap Dean was covered in.

He’d said, “Don’t be.” – though it came out more as a growl of impatience – and pulled Dean back to kiss him again.

The first time he said ‘I love you’ it was over breakfast; Castiel made waffles. Did he _need_  another reason?

But this is bigger than kissing; bigger than love, than sex, than squabbling over the channels on the radio station. And Dean realises it’s what he wants only slowly; one day the future suddenly doesn’t seem bleak and terrifying. One day he looks to his left and finds the angel there, and doesn’t think it’s strange at all.

He bides his time.  He doesn’t know how this is supposed to go – if it’s even legal in the particular state they’re in, if with angels it requires some kind of blood-binding ritual that’ll leave him with a headache and hundreds of thousands of sisters and brothers-in-law he never even wanted. He tries asking Sam for advice but his brother can’t understand his babbling, just says, “Dean, just  _tell him.”_ Because he doesn’t – can’t – understand how  _important_  this is.

They’re in a diner in late January. Dean’s been thinking about it for about a year – maybe longer.

Castiel looks at him oddly. Offers him some of his fries. They’ve been out, travelling, for about a month; Sam’s at home with the kids. Dean misses him – not always, but most of the time.

It’s so huge, but he barely sees it coming, when it does. One second he’s turning to ask if Cas is going to finish his burger – the next, he’s blurting,  “Cas, where do you see us in the next five years?”

The angel blinks slowly. “Probably exactly the same as we are now.” He chews thoughtfully. “Although, I imagine you’ll be five years older.” He smiles, to let Dean know he’s kidding. Dean swallows awkwardly.

“What about ten years from now?”

“The same, I’d imagine. Just five years on.” Castiel’s voice is questioning, now. “Dean, what are you trying to say?”

“I’m –“ Dean swallows. He looks at his hands. The diner is almost full; there’s people everywhere, bustling to and fro, and there’s a waitress staring him down, _dying_ to give them the check, but Dean has waved her off every time she’s tried, so far. “So. Forever.” He says, voice slipping quieter, and Castiel nods, shovelling another handful of fries into his mouth.

“Of course.” He says, as if it’s that simple. Dean puts his head in his hands. He looks up at the waitress, who is, again, walking with purpose towards their table and waves his hands frantically at her, mouthing,  _go away!_  She stops, affronted, and goes over to someone else, glaring at him. Dean looks back at Castiel.

“Forever.” He repeats. The angel nods, perplexed. Dean sighs exhaustedly and twists at the silver ring on his finger – he’s been wearing it so long, his hands have almost grown around it. He pulls it off (not without difficulty) and passes it over the table to Castiel. The angel takes it from him; his fingers are warm, covered in grease and salt. He holds it in his closed fist.

“Oh.” he murmurs. “This means-“ Castiel’s fingers tighten around it. “This means a lot to you.”

Dean nods. He smiles weakly. “A lot.” He reaches across the table and takes Castiel’s closed fist, ring and all, into his hand. He draws it close to his mouth, and kisses his knuckle. “Do you want it?” he murmurs against his hand, and Castiel smiles at him; soft, and knowing.

Dean’s never been so sure, so glad of a decision in his life.

“Yes, Dean.” He leans up, across the table, and brushes his thumb against the rise of Dean’s forehead. “Of course I do.”


End file.
